The Whole Of The Moon
by Inexplicable Cat
Summary: "Dude, how many times do I have to tell you? To get Tweek back you have to serenade him with a boombox, outside his window. Peter Gabriel is optional."


"Dude, how many times do I have to tell you? To get Tweek back you have to serenade his ass, outside his window, with a boombox. Peter Gabriel is optional."

Clyde, in his infinite wisdom, was trying to offer a solution to his best friend's predicament. Said predicament was nothing rare, though; Craig and Tweek were fighting all the fucking time, since they first got together, back in fourth grade. They couldn't help it; they were both selfish, stubborn, self-absorbed assholes with fiery tempers. They were rude, mean and extremely possessive.

But still, they loved each other more than it was humanly possible, so their fights never lasted long. In fact they had become so accustomed to their endless brawls that they ended up being part of their dysfunctionally beautiful relationship and they weren't really affected by them. Even the whole town, perpetually invested in their relationship, knew by then to just leave them alone to work their own shit out. As long as they were walking together down the street the next day, holding hands, everything was in order.

It wasn't like that this time though. Tweek hadn't spoken to Craig in a week, had been avoiding him like the plague and plainly refused all of Craig's efforts for reconciliation. The disparity of the current situation was pretty obvious to their close friends, and that's why Token and Clyde had decided to step in.

"Clyde, would you please occupy yourself with something else, in order for Craig and I to have a serious conversation," said Token, always the true voice of reason, before turning his attention to Craig, leaving no time to Clyde for further protests.

"What actually happened, dude? You didn't really explain."

Craig sighed; apparently his two meddlers of best friends were not going to leave him in peace, so he might as well spill the beans.

"I told him that sometimes he is too much to handle."

Clyde just hissed, scrunching his nose, while Token shook his head in disapproval "Dude. Harsh."

"I didn't mean to! It just, you know slipped out. He was pissing me off."

"Craig, my man, you know you can't just say anything that pops into your head. We talked about this," Clyde pointed out, adopting an authoritative tone.

"Fuck you Clyde! What the fuck do you know anyway, you imbecile?"

"See, that's what I'm talking about."

"Guys, guys, there's no point in arguing between ourselves," Token said, clasping his hand on Craig's shoulder. "Did you try apologizing?"

Craig sent another venomous glance towards Clyde's direction, before sighing indignantly, turning his head to stare hard at his other friend, like they were both testing his patience. "Wow, apologizing. How didn't I think of that?" he snorted, making Token roll his eyes at him.

"It's really hard to do that, Token" Craig continued in a more serious tone, "when he won't even answer my calls or run away every time I try to approach him."

"Well, you should try dropping by his house. I'm sure his parents will let you talk to him. And he won't be able to run away from you there."

Craig appeared skeptical for a moment, like he was actually considering Token's suggestion.

"I think, Tweek would have instructed his parents by now to not allow me to see him," he finally huffed, exasperation in his voice. Token thought about it for a bit and then nodded in agreement.

Clyde was watching them carefully, tilting his head to the side, biting his chapped lips. He really wished they would settle the issue soon, since he was freezing his ass off, sitting on Craig's porch, watching him chain smoke. He and Token came over, after school, to cheer him up, because Craig had looked so miserable sitting through his shared classes with Tweek, burning holes at the back of his skull. Apparently Tweek had a special radar or something, when it came to his boyfriend's stare cause he would leap out of his seat the minute the bell rang, making a bee line for the door, clutching his bag at his arms. He wouldn't even speak to the both of them, and Clyde hated it. He hated how their small, tight-knit gang could collapse so easily by another one of the power couple's argument. It used to be the four of them against the world (mostly against Stan and those guys), but now everyone was so absorbed in Craig and Tweek's relationship, that they spent most of their time dealing with an issue related to those two.

Nevertheless, he couldn't deny that when everything was in order, with Craig keeping his arm looped around Tweek's shoulder and his boyfriend smiling up at him, during lunch period, or afterwards, at Token's place, where they would gather to play the new Assassin's Creed game on Token's latest expensive console, Clyde himself was having a weird swelling sensation in his chest, one of maybe relative contentment. He couldn't tell if that was because of his and Token's inherent disposition against anything remotely disruptive or, maybe, Tweek and Craig had just that effect on people. Fill their hearts with hope and delight or some shit. When they weren't jerking each other around that was. How they were still friends with those assholes, who all they did was try to domineer over each other, was beyond him. Whatever the case might be, a solution had to be found and as soon as possible.

Still, Clyde thought the boombox option was the quickest, most effective way, guaranteed to ensure certain success.

"Don't knock it till you try it, bro," he blurted out suddenly, causing his friends to glance at his direction.

"Um, are you still talking about the boombox?" Token asked.

Craig rolled his eyes "of course he's talking about that. Do you truly believe Clyde could come up with another idea in such a short period of time?"

Clyde frowned "sure I can, I told you to try searching for him at his place."

Craig was looking at him like he was completely stupid and Token brought his palm to his lips, in order to hide a snicker.

"No. Token said that," Craig deadpanned.

Clyde opened his mouth to protest, but then he looked like he remembered something "oh yeah, you're right," he agreed. "But, anyway, it doesn't really matter. The thing is that my idea is bulletproof and you both know it. And can we please go inside? I'm freezing my balls off here."

Token rose up at that, stretching his back "That I can agree on, come on Craig, we can raid my dad's beer stash."

Their somber friend took one last drag of his latest cigarette and flicked the butt on the ground as he was rising from his spot, stepping inside Token's fancy house.

That evening, as Craig was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing he were living alone so he could smoke inside whenever the fuck he wanted he caught himself thinking about all the songs that Tweek used to like. And all the songs that meant something to them and their relationship.

And then his breath caught in his throat because he realized that he was actually considering it. He hated to admit it but Clyde's ludicrous suggestion intrigued him a little. I mean, who was ever going to find out about it? Except Tweek of course, and maybe his parents; it depended on the time his 'impromptu' serenade would take place. He should definitely do it when they were both at the coffee shop. God, he was already thinking about the details, what was wrong with him? Maybe the fact that Tweek had ignored all of his calls and texts, yet again today, had something to do with it. He tried to rationalize with himself, pointing out that maybe the best course of action was the one Token had proposed, stopping by his boyfriend's house. But then again, if he went to all the trouble of stalking Tweek outside his house, trying to talk to him against his will, he might as well have brought let's say a boombox with him.

Now, here's the thing with Craig Tucker. He was the most apathetic asshole in the face of the earth. If people and situations weren't affecting him personally, he just couldn't be bothered. He didn't give a fuck for actual people, interacting with him daily. He had Tweek, to whom he poured all his emotions and passions and anything else that might give away that he was an actual human being and not a robotic apparatus created to perform simple tasks like flipping the middle finger or feeding pet guinea pigs, and that was pretty much it.

That was how he operated in everyday life, in small, trivial and daily situations, dealing with real people. But as far as imaginary things went, well, that was a whole different story. He was a hopeless romantic, but in that perverse way where he was over-idealizing things in his own head and then he was crushed by the graceless, nasty daily routine. Art had a way of getting to him, because that's what art does. Wraps itself around all the un-extraordinary, frivolous things, turning them into awe-inspiring little wonders.

To put it simply, Craig, no matter how devastated he might have been, he hadn't shed a single tear at his grandmother's funeral but he spent ten minutes, sobbing uncontrollably after watching 'Brokeback Mountain'.

So, of course, venturing outside his angry boyfriend's house, holding a boom box over his head and playing songs of love, sounded like the perfect chance for Craig's life to imitate art. Plus, since John Cusack had done it (and he held an infinite amount of respect for that guy if only for delivering one of the most powerful lines he had ever heard in his life _what really matters is what you like, not what you are like. Books, records, films - these things matter. Call me shallow but it's the fucking truth_ ), then it couldn't be all that bad.

And with those thoughts in his mind, he drifted off to sleep.

The next day it was Saturday and Craig knew that Tweek worked the morning shift until four pm and then his father took over until closing time at nine. His mother used to go to the coffee shop around noon, to bring her son a proper lunch and then she stayed until seven or eight in the evening. So if he was truly going along with that ridiculous plan he would have to execute it around six pm when, luckily, Tweek would be home alone.

He had plenty of time to prepare. The tricky part was, of course, getting the boombox itself. He certainly didn't own anything like that since the only music he listened to was on his laptop. Asking other people for help was definitely out of the question.

In the end, he ended up in their garage, searching the countless boxes his father had accumulated over the years. His old man was suffering from a mild case of hoarding, in the sense that he wasn't keeping around actual garbage, like half eaten sandwiches or broken toothbrushes but he absolutely refused to part with any reminders of his youth. He kept his old bicycle somewhere, rusted and peeling and Craig was certain that he kept the suit in which he married Craig's mother in a dark corner of their closet.

So after a thorough search Craig found what he was looking for. Inside a tall metallic locker his father had safely sacked a small turntable, their old TV and, thank god, a medium sized, shiny, black boombox.

Craig lifted it up carefully and took it out from the cabinet. It looked pretty operative still. It had only one tape deck and its loudspeakers were not that big but Craig figured it could get the job done. Still he had to taste that theory. So he gently placed it on top of an old and torn couch and walked over to a corner, where many cardboard boxes were discarded. He opened one that had 'tapes' written at its side in permanent black marker.

And there they were, almost fifty tapes, his parents' music safely tucked inside a paper box along with old and fond memories. Craig may or may not have spent an entire weekend listening to them non-stop back in elementary school, occasionally calling Tweek to tell him about a song he discovered.

He thumped through them, checking their labels until he found one reading 'The Waterboys Greatest Hits' with bold black letters, handwritten on its cover. He picked it up and made his way to the couch, where he had left the boombox. He slumped beside it and softly inserted the tape into the deck. When he hit the play button the music filled the small room, a bit clanging and rough but still very beautiful.

His father had written the songs that were in the tape, on the back of its cover but Craig decided the best course of action, in order to determine whether the tape contained the song he wanted, was to listen to the whole thing in their dark and clammy garage. At least that's what he told himself.

He was outside Tweek's house. In fact, he was standing right under his window. The light was on so he figured he probably was there, reading or watching a movie on his computer. Craig briefly hoped he didn't have his ear buds on, otherwise his whole troubles would have been for nothing.

He had even worn an old coat that his mother had bought for him on his fourteenth birthday. He managed to squeeze into the wretched thing but Craig had a growth spurt since then and the hem fell right under his butt and it didn't reach the back of his knees as it used to when it was brand new. Still, it did wonders for him getting into character.

The song he had picked was not an extremely romantic one, hell, it wasn't even talking strictly about love. But it reminded him of Tweek in a way that it was describing a most fascinating and extraordinary person and the contrast with their more down to earth counterpart. And it fit, it fit so fucking much because Craig was in a constant state of awe when it came to Tweek. Tweek, who was always spying on him, checking Craig's cell for suspicious texts and calls, Tweek who got so jealous one time over a female classmate of theirs and wouldn't let Craig to attend a shared class for a week, Tweek who truly believed the world revolved around him and who was so, so demanding. Tweek, who made it impossible for Craig to fully comprehend what was going on in that head of his, and what different level of reality he was exploring each day. Tweek who _was_ too much to handle but Craig wouldn't have it any other way. And also, whose real, actual, feasible self didn't differ substantially from the idealized version of him, Craig kept in his head and heart.

That was probably the most likely reason why he loved him so much.

So, he picked up the boom box, which was heavier than it looked, turned the volume all the way up, hit the play button and balanced it over his head.

Nothing happened during the intro and Craig's stomach sank because he realized he was only making a spectacle of himself in vain.

But then, when the first verse came around, he spotted a tentative shadowy figure behind the curtains in Tweek's room, and then they were pulled back by the object of his endeavors, whose eyes were wide opened and he looked so confused, probably torn between laughing his ass off at the image of Craig holding a fucking boombox over his head and pouring a bucket of water all over him.

But as the song progressed, Craig could faintly watch the corners of Tweek's mouth curling up into a smile. Craig himself was blushing, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, staring at Tweek, but not regretting his decision one bit.

When the song was over, Tweek immediately vanished from the window and Craig paused the music, while lowering the boombox and setting it on the ground.

For a few seconds, he was left standing there, as the night was falling deep all around him, wondering if he had succeeded.

And then the front door of the Tweak residence opened and Tweek himself was standing in the doorway, a wide smile on his face, radiant and genuine and so inviting so Craig smiled back at his boyfriend and stepped inside the house.

The next day, when they appeared together at school, holding hands, Clyde's expression was so smug and so knowing that Craig had never before wanted to punch his lights out so badly.


End file.
